


Sleeping Lessons

by paradiamond



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dogs, M/M, The key to Will's heart is befriending his dogs, Will hiding Frederick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradiamond/pseuds/paradiamond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiding in Will Graham's house is embarrassing enough for Frederick, who on top of it all can't seem to sleep normally anymore. Will knows how that is. They work it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Rest for the Wicked

After the initial rush of fleeing the crime scene his house has become and subsequent anxiety ridden night spent in Will Grahams’ dirty basement as the FBI half-heartedly searched the rest of the house, Frederick fully expects to pass out from sheer exhaustion.

Will comes and lets him out in the early hours of the morning, dark circles under his eyes from participating in the ‘search’ outside. 

“Ok. It’s clear,” Will says in his normal, off putting tone. Frederick nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to reemerge, heart pounding again.

He takes a deep breath, knowing with crystal clarity that the only reason they didn’t find him was because they didn’t expect to.

Will offers him a smile that holds very little warmth. “I told them that you ran out the back,” Will says, mildly, slumping down on the couch. One of the dog pack immediately jumps onto his lap.

“I heard,” Frederick hesitates in the middle of the room. “I- I’m very grateful-”

Will waves a hand. “Figure we have to stick together now, don’t we?”

Frederick nods, and glances away. He’s privately thankful that Will hadn’t said anything to the effect of ‘you would have done the same thing for me’, because he really wouldn’t have.

He clears his throat to meet Will’s eyes again, and finds him looking back with something like amusement in his eyes, like he knows what Frederick had been thinking.

Flushing with embarrassment but still making the attempt at some form of grace, even in his disheveled state, Frederick does his best to look appropriately contrite. “Will, I should probably apologize for...most things, really.”

Will smiles again, a real one this time. “Probably, yeah.” He stands. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping for a while.”

 _Sleep,_ Frederick thinks, and follows him up the stairs eagerly. The second floor is almost creepily empty, Will clearly inhabits only the ground floor which just has to be psychiatrically significant, but Frederick leaves his curious observations for another day. _No doubt I’ll have plenty of time_ , he thinks, with only a little bitterness.

Will pushes open a door to reveal a sparse but clean bedroom. “This is you. I’m downstairs.”

Frederick glances over at him. He had seen the bed. “You really sleep in the living room?” he asks, unable to keep all of the mockery out of his voice.

Will just regards him evenly. “Yes.” He shuts the door.

“Jesus…” Frederick mutters to himself, turning away to better inspect the room. He may have saved Frederick’s freedom and potentially his life, but Will Graham is still quite the piece of work.

Bone tired at seven in the morning and still having residual tremors from all the adrenaline, Frederick lays down on the bed, not bothering with trying to find clothes to sleep in or even taking off his shoes. He fully expects to pass out immediately. He doesn’t.

Ever obstinate, Frederick keeps his eyes firmly shut for several minutes, willing his mind to quiet and for certain images to fade away. It doesn’t work. There’s nothing to distract him now. 

He can hear the dogs moving around downstairs, and chooses to blame them. Frederick’s house is always near silent.

Frustrated, he sits up, careful as always not to move too quickly or in any of the ways he knows will agitate his injury. “Dammit Graham,” he mutters, not caring how unwarranted his irritation is, or what it is likely masking. “Of course you have a house full of animals, _of course_ you do.”

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and puts his head in his hands for a few minutes, just breathing. The necessity of accepting that his old life is likely lost to him no matter the result of this investigation washes over him and he has to push down a cry of anger, or maybe sorrow.

“Dammit.” He stands up, maybe a little too fast if the head rush he gets for his trouble is any indication, and makes for the door. There's a small dog immediately on the other side of it, staring up at him. Frederick glares at it. “Yes. Congratulations dog, I am up.”

He puts a hand against the wall, the loss of his cane nagging at his mind, and tries not to trip over the dog as he goes down the stairs.

The ground floor is darker, but somehow more comforting. Frederick wanders around cautiously, his instinct to explore winner over his vague desire not to be rude. He spots Will over in the next room, asleep.

Without the haunted look that he carries when awake, Will looks younger, almost innocent. Frederick stares for a few minutes until he realizes what it would look like if Will woke up. Embarrassed, he pointedly averts his gaze and walks out of the room, seeking out a couch.

The majority of the soft surfaces in the house are occupied by dogs, and Frederick can easily imagine Will, freshly released and overwhelmed, not shooing them off of anything for the next few days.

“Wonderful,” he mutters, settling himself between two canines, one of which immediately makes for his lap. He sputters, trying to be stern and keep his voice low at the same time.

“No- dog you get off-” But the dog does not listen, making itself comfortable wedged between Frederick's thighs and one of his arms. It's one of the bigger ones, sandy colored with a ridiculously fluffy tail. Frederick glares, too tired to put up a real fight. “I suppose you only listen to Will, is that it, dog?”

The dog just settles its weight more firmly onto his legs. “Fine,” he murmurs, closing his eyes.

***

“Hey. Chilton.”

Frederick stirs, confusion fogging his brain until the dog in his lap bounds up, scratching him through his pants in the effort to get to Will.

“Ah! _What?_ ”

Will just stares at him, a look somewhere between irritation and curiosity crossing his face.

He opens his mouth, but Frederick beats him to the punch. “What time is it?”

“Almost five pm,” Will says, mildly, adjusting his shirt cuffs. It takes Frederick a minute to realize that he's dressed much nicer than he usually would be.

“Job interview?” he asks, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. “I take it the FBI hasn’t asked for you back.” 

Will shoots him a side-eyed glance from where he's pouring food out for the dogs in individual bowls. “I have a standing appointment with a mutual friend of ours.”

“Oh.” He stands, straightening his clothes as best he can. “So when you said you're going to catch him...”

Will meets his eyes. “I meant it,” he says, darkly, and Frederick feels a chill go up his spine.

Uncomfortable, he gestures broadly. “I'll, uh, take care of things while you're away.”

Will glances around pointedly. “Help yourself,” he says, on his way out the door.

Alone again, Frederick sits back down. A furry mass lands in his lap again, whining.

Frederick rests a hand on it's fur, staring off into space. “It's ok dog. He'll be back.”

He hopes.


	2. Waking Habits

It's late (again) when Will comes home, looking a little lost and a lot tired.

“Hello,” Frederick calls from the couch. He had moved during the few hours Will had been gone, even dozed a bit more, but not much.

Will turns to look at him, amusement in his eyes. “Hello.”

Heat creeps up on Frederick's face. “Eh- I let the dogs out. I would have cooked something too, but...” he trails off intentionally.

“No food. Right.” 

“Right.” Frederick shifts, dislodging a dog. “How did your ah- meeting go?”

Will’s gaze turns sharp. “I’m going to take a shower. See you tomorrow.” 

Frederick just nods, deciding to not mention that he may have used up all of his hot water. He waits until he hears the water turn on to beat a hasty retreat to the room upstairs. 

Days pass, and Frederick doesn’t see much of Will, who is spending the majority of his time dealing with whatever mess Hannibal stirs up for him. They never talk about it, and Frederick isn’t sure he even wants to know. Will finally brings food home on the third day, and Frederick has to stop himself from having an outburst, torn between gratitude and anger. 

He chooses to channel the energy into productivity and digs into the grocery bags with an excitement he hadn’t felt in days. He’s so hungry, and so tried, and now he can fix one of them. 

“I uh- tried to get things you could eat,” Will says, gesturing with one of the bags. 

“I noticed that, thank you,” Frederick says, distracted by all the possibilities. In the past few days Frederick had catalogued every object in Will’s house. Most of it amounted to engine parts, which Frederick had no idea what to do with, dog care materials, and clothes. He doesn’t even own a personal computer.

Will sets the bags on the table and starts walking toward the other side of the house. “Dogs?” 

“I let them out already.” 

Will comes back, and immediately sits down onto the floor with them. Frederick turns away, smirking. “Hungry?” 

“Not really,” Will comments, mildly. 

Frederick glances over his shoulder. Will is visibly skinny, no doubt from his time in the asylum. “Alright. Have you eaten today?” he asks, because he needs Will healthy to catch Hannibal for him. 

Will rolls his eyes but doesn’t answer. One of the dogs pounces on him, knocking him flat on the ground. He laughs. 

Frederick looks away, strangely embarrassed to watch Will so relaxed. “Well.” He clears his throat. “I’m hungry, and I’m making myself a casserole. You can share it, if you’d like.” 

Will doesn’t respond, but he ends up eating with Frederick anyway. 

That night, Frederick doesn’t bother with going upstairs to the guest room. He hadn’t managed to sleep there, or anywhere, very well. The couch was only better because of the dogs, not that he would admit that to Will. 

He sits up with the dogs, trying to ignore the sounds of Will getting ready for bed in the next room. A blush creeps over his face, and he’s grateful that only Winston is there to see it. 

He doesn’t sleep much that night either. Just stares up at the ceiling and lays down with his eyes closed for minutes at a time. At one point, he comes back to himself and wonders how long he’d been asleep, if he’d been asleep at all. Will doesn’t seem to believe in keeping clocks though for some reason, so he can’t really tell. 

At one point, a dog uses his stomach as a jumping off point to the floor, and catches him right in the scar. Gasping, he jerks into a sitting position, and sees Will in the next room, sitting up and holding his head in his hands. 

_Nightmare,_ Frederick thinks, and lays back down again. 

***

The days blur together, to the point that Frederick can’t even say how long he’s been in Will’s house. When Will’s there, things are incredibly strained. He eats the food, but doesn’t seem to know how to deal with Frederick’s presence in his home. It’s uncomfortable to say the least, and primarily Frederick’s fault. When Will’s out, there’s nothing to do but get creative with the cooking and take care of the dogs, so that’s what he sets himself towards doing. 

Turns out that taking care of seven dogs is actually rather difficult. Maybe not for Will the Dog Whisperer, but Frederick doesn’t keep pets. He works too much for that to be a viable option. 

Will’s dogs are a terror, possibly because they sense weakness in Frederick’s abilities to contain them. He spent the better part of a day out in the woods trying to find one that had taken off like a rocket when he let them all out in the morning, because he would honestly prefer to get caught and deal with the FBI under the accusation of murder than deal with Will Graham if he get one of the dogs lost. 

“I don’t understand how you even manage to get this dirty, dog. I mean really…” he trails off, pouring another cup of water over the dog’s squirming back. The dog yips happily and struggles toward the door of the bathroom. Frederick turns, a sinking feeling in his stomach, and sees Will standing in the doorway. Watching him on his knees, sleeves rolled up, and soaking wet. At four in the morning. 

“Uh-”

“Baxter seems to be enjoying his bath,” Will comments, looking him over. “Weird time for it though.” 

“Yes, well. He got out and in some dirt, so,” he says, lamely. 

Will nods. “Can’t sleep?” 

“Not usually.” 

Will just nods. Frederick knows he understands. 

“You’re pretty good with them.” Will shifts in the doorway. “Have you had many dogs?” 

Frederick turns back to the wet dog in the tub. “When I was younger.”

“In Cuba?”

Frederick freezes. He hadn’t even realized that Will knew where he was from. “Yes, though it was my father’s dog, really.” 

Will just hums, accepting Baxter into a towel and rubbing him dry. “Right.” 

Not particularly wanting their first semi-friendly conversation fade so fast, Frederick presses on. “I don’t really have time for dogs now, it wouldn't be fair.” 

Will catches his eye and nods, seriously. “They need a lot of care,” he says, setting Baxter onto his feet and watching him scramble away. 

“Right. I had a cat, briefly, but it was more like a stray that adopted me rather than the other way around.” 

Will actually chuckles at that. “Well that does happen.” 

They have a semi-pleasant morning after that, which Frederick takes credit for, sitting on the couches with what is getting dangerously close to being the last of the food (again). Will promises to get more. There’s really nothing to do, no current open cases that Will is “helping” with. (Not working. Just being coincidentally present at the scene). 

They end up watching some mindless program and not discussing anything of real relevance to their lives. The dogs are a safe topic, and Frederick is all about playing it safe nowadays. 

He falls asleep against Will’s shoulder, too tired and finally relaxed to remember why he shouldn’t, and wakes up wrapped around the other man like a vine, both arms wound around his waist. Will’s hand is on top of his head, like he’s one of the dogs. 

Frederick jerks up, way too fast, and twinges his scar so badly he immediately collapses back down onto Will’s torso. Will startles and tries to pull away, effectively falling onto the ground and taking Frederick with him. 

“Wha-” Will starts, looking around wildly. 

Frederick pushes himself up and starts backing out of the room. “I- it’s nothing. Nothing. I’m, the dogs- I’ll be up," he stammers and nearly runs up the stair and straight into the shower. 

They never speak of it again.


	3. Night Life

Both cleaning and cooking become his primary hobbies. Keeping the house perfect helps keep him busy, distracted from the outside world and motivated to get off the couch after whatever part of the night he spent staring at the ceiling. Will apparently doesn’t care about keeping his house clean, but Frederick always kept his house spotless. Or the maid did. 

So far, he has cleaned the bathroom, most of the basement, scrubbed all the surfaces he can reach, reorganized Will’s shelves, and washed all the dogs. Twice. He’s still clinging to the vague hope that tiring himself out during the day will help him sleep at night. So far, it hasn’t worked, but Frederick nothing if not persistent. 

Sometimes, he catches Will watching him warily when he’s attacking a mess, but he never says anything about it. Or to him in general lately. They hadn’t really talked since the night Frederick managed to mess up all his progress by using Will as his personal body pillow. Even the thought of it makes his color rise. 

They dance around each other now, and Frederick is determined to make the best of it, as he has always done. 

He’s in the middle of doing the dishes when he hears the dogs go crazy. 

He ignores them, not bothering to greet Will, then stops. The dogs are still barking, clawing at the door. Not the way they act when Will comes home. 

Frederick drops the plate he’s holding and manages to grab the majority of the evidence from the living room table before he’s behind the basement door, trying not to breathe. He’s able to hear them on the porch. The front door opens.

“-nibal won’t stop unless we manage to get him behind bars, and we need more than simple evidence at this point, Will. I mean, he’ll be the fourth supposed Chesapeake Ripper!”

“I know Jack…” Will’s voice faded slightly as he went into another room, and Frederick allows himself to breath evenly. Jack Crawford is not a man to be trifled with, Frederick knows. He’s afraid to even go down the stairs. 

The conversation seems to center around the idea of Will wearing a wire when going to see Hannibal. Jack thinks it’s a great idea. Will thinks that it will only make him more careful.

“Because he will _know_ Jack, he sees everything!” 

Frederick closes his eyes. _Not everything,_ He thinks. God forbid Hannibal ever comes to Will’s house again. Then he’ll know for sure. 

Will and Jack keep talking. Frederick lets out a slow exhale, clutching the blankets he’s holding. For now, he’s safe. 

Afterwards, Will opens the door to the basement and stands with his hands on his hips for a few seconds before running them through his hair and emitting a strained laugh. “So. We should probably get you a prepaid cell phone.” 

Frederick lets out a startled laugh. “Perhaps. Luckily the dogs alerted me to his presence.” 

Will smiles, and Frederick notices the dark circles under his eyes. It makes him feel better about how terrible he know he looks. Terrible enough to make him grateful that all of his friends are now dogs. 

“I’ll make coffee,” Will says, over his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Frederick answers, making his way over to the couch and dropping onto it. 

Baxter jumps up onto his lap. “You too, dog,” he says, letting his eyes drift shut. 

***

Frederick’s cleaning high lasts for another two days before the wave of blissful productivity finally breaks. The depression creeps up slowly, like a high tide. Next things he knows, Frederick is drowning in it. 

“Not clinical,” he murmurs to one of the dogs. The dogs, who are the only living beings left to him. “Just...situational. Potentially more of a PTSD reaction…” 

He stares up at the ceiling. The self diagnosis does nothing. 

One day, Will is in the process of leaving the house as Frederick watches from a horizontal position on the couch, calling out that he would make sure to buy food today. Frederick hadn’t even noticed they were low. 

He doesn’t respond and Frederick catches Will looking at him, face screwed up in an unpleasant expression.

“I know,” Frederick says. “I’ll shower.” 

Will raises an eyebrow. “Ok,” he says slowly, glancing around the disheveled room. Assessing. “I’ll be back soon.” He leaves. 

Frederick turns his face toward the dog pile. “I don’t know, do you think he’ll kick me out?” 

One of the dogs barks, like an answer. He cracks a small smile. It’s the highlight of Frederick’s week so far. 

Will makes good on his word and shows up at the house at a reasonable hour, even carrying food. Frederick watches his proceedings with minimal interest from the couch. It occurs to him that he should probably get up and help Will make the food, since it’s one of the few things he’s been consistently doing. 

At one point Will comes back over to his area, holding a plate. Frederick looks at it. “That was fast.” 

Will raises an eyebrow. “Not really.” He sets the plate down and goes away again. 

“Ah,” Frederick closes his eyes again. 

Will’s voice drifts back to him. “No. Wake up.” 

Frederick cranes his neck. “Am I going somewhere?” 

Will walks back into the room, holding another plate. After a minute he jerks his head towards the table by the window. “Come on, eat with me.” 

It takes him a minute, but Frederick gets himself up. Will watches his progress impassively as he makes his way over to him, plate in hand. 

“So. I take it you didn’t shower.” 

Frederick flinches. “I- No. I will though.” 

“Have you been spending a lot of time laying on the couch?” 

“I don’t know, have you _noticed?_ ” Frederick can’t help but bite back.

Will looks surprised. “Fair point.” 

They eat in silence for the next few minutes. Will barely looks up, so Frederick watches him instead. His hair is still styled, and for a minute he’s distracted by how nice Will looks, how beautiful he is in general, then shuts the line of thought down. He tries to think of nothing for the rest of the meal. 

Will asks for help with the cleaning after they finish, and Frederick can’t exactly refuse, so he dries while Will washes. 

“Are you sleeping any better?” Will asks, not meeting his eyes.

“No,” he says, maintaining his focus on putting things in their proper place.

“I might be able to-”

Frederick spins around. “What? Fix it for me? Just like you’ll catch Hannibal?” he snaps, nearly yelling. 

Will glares. “I’m doing the best that I can, God Chilton, you’re an absolute nightmare do you know-”

Frederick makes a break for the stairs, slamming up them so he doesn’t have to hear any more. 

Once in the bathroom, he throws all of his clothes onto the floor angrily then sits down on the toilet seat when he gets a head rush. He rubs his hands into his eyes. 

“Damn it.”


	4. Dream Pressures

“Will?” Frederick calls out, trying and failing to sound casual. 

The other man turns around slowly to regard him coolly. “Since when do you call me _Will?_ ”

Frederick stifles a wince. “My apologies. For that and for my...outburst. I haven’t been doing well lately and I know that it’s worse on you, being out there and all.” He does his best to appear genuine. 

Will still seems suspicious. “Accepted, _Frederick._ Sorry for calling you a nightmare. Even if it’s true.” 

Frederick does his best to smile. “Likewise,” he manages to grind out. 

Will smirks, seeming to approve, and walks towards him. “I- I know this is hard on you. But you should know that I’m not going to kick you out at any point. Not unless you try to kill me,” he jokes, poorly, and Frederick winces. 

“Well. Good.” 

“Good,” Will says, and leaves. 

Frederick stays standing for a few more minutes, overcome. He lets out a shuddering breath and looks over to the dogs, all seven of which are staring at him. “I suppose you need to be fed then?” 

They follow at his heels, barking or yipping and generally getting under his feet. “Dogs- no. Back over there.” He points, but they don’t go, except for Buster.

“Of course _he_ listens to me,” he says to the other dogs. “He actually likes me. The only one in this whole house who-” He freezes, having seen Will standing in the doorway, one hand still on the screen. 

“Uh-”

“Frederick, are you...talking to them?” Will asks, smirking. 

“What? No.” He busies himself with the food again, face burning. “Why are even still here?”

“Forgot my keys,” Will says, still staring at him. “You just...keep on with your conversation.”

Frederick turns. “Now Will.”

Will puts his hands up. “I do it too, sometimes. Just let me know if they start talking back.” He flashes Frederick a winning smile and darts back out the door, leaving Frederick standing around like an idiot, blushing and clutching a dog bowl. 

A sharp bark sounds from near his ankles and he directs his glare downward. “Shut it, dog. This is your fault anyway.” 

***

The low points get easier after that, in part because Will starts leaving him with projects to do, probably to achieve that very end. The latest one, ‘fix vacuum’, is proving especially challenging. He knows next to nothing about this kind of work. It also doesn’t help that he spends a lot of his time drifting in his own head due to the insomnia. 

“Ok,” he mutters to himself, turning a screw. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, leaning forward to squint at the offending machine. “Let’s see…” But the dogs start barking. Will’s bark. Frederick looks up to see him come through the door, looking even more worn than usual.

“Assignment?” He calls out, looking back down to the machine. 

“Mm.” Will heads into the kitchen, presumably for coffee, then turns back. He crouches down next to him. “Fixing the vacuum?” 

“Yes.” He answers 

“Did you try the hose? 

Frederick turns his head to answer but his breath catches because suddenly Will’s face is _right there_ and he can’t breathe. 

“I- I-” he stutters, jerking his head away. Will blinks, clearly caught off guard by Frederick’s behavior. 

“Sorry,” he says, frowning. “I just wanted to help.”

“No, it’s fine, you just ah- startled me,” Frederick says, avoiding Will’s eyes. “So. The hose?” 

Will shoots him a curious look but goes back to explaining the vacuum’s parts and problems. Frederick barely hears any of it, still stuck thinking about Will’s _eyes_ of all things and how much trouble he’s in. 

He ends up giving up on the vacuum altogether to go make dinner, leaving the broken appliance in Will’s significantly more capable hands. He’s making another casserole, since they’re easy and Will keeps bringing home seemingly random ingredients, not really components of separate meals. 

A thought occurs to him. “Will?”

“Yeah?” He calls back, absently, still focused on the vacuum. 

“I hope you’re not abstaining from meat for my sake. It won’t bother me just because I can’t eat it,” Frederick says, feeling irrationally proud of himself for thinking of it. He hasn’t lived with another person for years. 

Will looks up, though his gaze lands somewhere closer to Frederick’s shoulder than his eyes. “Oh, no. I, uh...haven’t been eating much meat lately. My choice,” he says, looking down again. “So no, it doesn’t bother me.” 

Frederick frowns, considering. _Hannibal the cannibal._ Of course. He’d been so focused on not thinking about Hannibal at all he had forgotten what Will must be dealing with. He clears his throat, feeling awkward. “Well. Good then.” 

He sneaks one last glance over at Will and catches him smiling down at the vacuum parts. “Good.” 

That night, Frederick thinks that he’s almost asleep, a warm dog curled into his side, when a harsh noise wakes him up again. He sits up, slowly. The dogs take notice and he shushes them when they start to fuss, concerned. 

It’s Will, rolling around and panting on the bed in the corner of the other room. Frederick’s face heats when he has a moment where he considers the possibility of it being a sex dream, but dismisses it when Will lets out a sound of pure fear. 

Torn between wanting to help and not wanting to intrude, Frederick stares over at the figure on the bed and frets. Next to him, Winston whines, ears down. Frederick gets up. 

“Will,” he whispers, even though he’s probably still too far away. “Wake up.”

Will just jerks his head, like he’s flinching away from something. Frederick inches closer, picking up a book to shake him with if need be. 

“ _Will,_ ” he says, louder, and this time Will startles awake, rocketing up into a sitting position and breathing hard. He has one hand up like he’s waiting for a strike. 

Frederick just stands there, staring down at him, taking in his drenched with sweat clothes, his heaving chest. Will’s glancing around furiously, coming back to himself. He focuses on Frederick. 

“Were you- were you going to hit me with the book?” he asks, his voice hoarse. His eyes are wet. Frederick looks away. 

“I was afraid you were going to lash out,” Frederick explains, feeling awkward. He drops the book onto the desk and sees the way Will flinches at the sound.

Will lets out a shaky breath, and curls into himself. “Smart man,” He says, the sound muffled by his arms. 

Frederick backs away. “One second.” 

Will doesn’t respond, so Fredrick just retrieves the towels from the closet as quickly as possible so he can get back to him. He approaches the bed with caution. “Will?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I, uh- brought these,” he says, holding them up. Will doesn’t move, so Frederick sits down on the very edge of the bed and wraps one around his shoulder for him. Will startles, but catches himself, grabbing the other one and using it to dry his hair. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, stripping off his dirty shirt to change. “Sorry, about this.” 

“I understand,” Frederick says, because he really _does_ get it. He’d woken up actually screaming in the weeks following Gideon’s attack. “Let me know if you need anything else.” 

He stands to give Will his privacy but is stopped by a firm pressure on his arm. He turns to see Will’s hand wrapped around his bicep, holding him back. 

Will looks as shocked as Frederick feels and lets go as if his arm had burned him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why-”

“Will, it’s fine,” Frederick says, sitting back down. Will looks up, straight into Frederick’s eyes, and the naked vulnerability he sees there cuts him to the core. 

Acting on instinct, Frederick takes a risk he hopes he won’t regret. “Would you mind terribly if I slept here?” Will freezes. “Just sleeping, of course. It’s just that-”

“No,” Will says, quickly, eyes closed now. “I don’t mind.” He moves over to make room. 

They don’t even touch for the rest of the night. It’s still the best sleep Frederick has had in weeks.


	5. Passing Out

They simply don’t discuss it. 

Frederick wakes up the next morning alone. He sits up, disoriented at finding himself not on the couch where he belongs. He hears the shower running, and realizes with a jolt whose bed he’s in and why. He scrambles up, putting distance between himself and the bed, face red. 

He avoids Will’s eyes when he comes back, not that it’s difficult to do. Will seems intent on pretending that the night before never happened, and Frederick is more than happy to follow his lead. They eat breakfast in that awkward silence that comes from the forced casualness of two people pretending that there’s nothing to feel awkward about. Will seems lost in thought, even more so than usual, so Frederick eats his soy milk cereal and keeps his mouth shut. 

He jumps at the chance to take the dogs out, nearly running out the back door with them. Outside, he watches them running, wishing that his problems were only as complicated as theirs. He could live with having his bathroom breaks regimented in exchange for never worrying about anything. 

Realizing that he had reached the point of wishing he was a _dog_ , Frederick shakes his head and gathers them back up, herding them into the house. 

“It’s your fault you kn-” he cuts himself off, spinning around to make sure Will didn’t catch him talking to the dogs again. But Will is gone, and he doesn’t come back for the rest of the day. 

Frederick does his best to put the whole situation aside as he sets himself to cleaning, wary of drifting into another low point. He spends the morning scrubbing the inside of the dishwasher, and it’s surprisingly effective in keeping him steady. It doesn’t really needs to be cleaned, but he does it anyway, just to keep his hands busy. When he finishes, he moves on to the sink. Will hadn’t left him any projects. 

All day, he’s surprised by how rested he feels, almost like his old self. “The benefits of a nearly full night of sleep,” he mutters, to himself. Not even the dogs are paying much attention to him today. Frederick strongly suspects that they’re annoyed with him for not sleeping with them on the couch. 

It doesn’t take long for him to run out of things to do. 

Kitchen spotless, Frederick stands in the middle of the room, hands on his hips. It suddenly dawns on him what he must look like from the outside, not that anyone is watching. Cleaning and cooking like some sort of kept house husband. Will’s little stay at home dog sitter. Frederick frowns, studying the room, bitterness choking him. 

He walks briskly over to the cabinet in the living room and opens the doors. Lifts the bottle of whiskey and weighs it in his hand. 

“Well,” he mutters, unscrewing the top. “Here we are.” 

Will finds him hours later laying on the floor, watching basic cable upside down. He stops abruptly, staring openly and still in the doorway. “Uh-”

“Will…” Frederick says, though it comes out as more of a slur. He tilts his head, still on the floor. “You look…tired.” Really he looks sad, but Frederick isn’t about to just _say_ that. 

“There’s some stuff. With work,” Will says, finally shutting the door and coming more fully inside. “I see you helped yourself to some whiskey.” 

“The majority of it.” Frederick smiles his most charming smile. “I saved some for you, of course.” 

Will actually cracks a smile as he drops down onto the couch. “How considerate.” He glances around. “Did you make food?” 

“No,” Frederick says, moving to sit up and then thinking better of it. “I’m not your _maid_ you know.” 

Will raises an eyebrow. “I just meant that I think you should get some carbs in you to soak up that alcohol before you pass out. I will have a drink though.” 

Frederick closes his eyes, nodding solemnly. “Smart.” 

He hears Will laugh, for the first time in weeks, probably. He wants to laugh too, but doesn’t summon it up fast enough. “I think...my reaction time isn’t that great from down here.” 

“Uh huh.” He hears, from farther away than he had expected, and realizes that Will had gone into the kitchen. He scrambles up, somehow managing to avoid falling onto his face and scoops up the bottle. Frederick also almost trips over a dog on his way into the kitchen, and glares, sure that Buster did it on purpose. 

“Here,” he says, and thrusts the open bottle at Will, who accepts it with a dubious expression. Frederick makes sure to look him straight in the eyes. “Catch up.” 

Will smirks and takes a swig from the bottle. “Isn’t this a little low class? Drinking from the bottle?” he asks, clearly teasing. 

Frederick averts his eyes and avoids answering it though, because it _is_ and so is most of Will’s life, but he doesn’t think saying that would be a good idea, because Will is his only friend, except for the dogs-

“Frederick,” Will says, openly smiling now. “You’re thinking out loud.” 

Frederick freezes. “Uh- I…”

“It’s fine, I've always been low class,” Will says, visibly amused. “Help me with this bread.” 

Dinner is fun, probably more so for Frederick since he’s fantastically intoxicated, but Will seems to enjoy it too. Frederick can’t help but notice it when his gaze wanders off into the middle distance though, clearly caught by unpleasant thoughts. Frederick does his best to distract him, even to the point of singing, too loudly but at least he’s on key. 

Will teases him about it, but sounds genuinely impressed. “You’re actually very good Frederick.”

“I know.” Frederick smiles and hopes he won’t be too embarrassed in the morning. 

Cleaning up after dinner takes a while, mostly because Frederick insists on helping. He’s in that stage of drunkenness where he knows that he’s not being helpful, but still feels determined to help. 

“Ok but just-” Will cuts off abruptly when Frederick drops a plate into the full sink, splashing them both with water. 

Frederick gapes. “How did that-”

“Just go to the couch.”

This time, Frederick listens, settling in with the dogs to watch Will clean. He smirks, eyes trailing down the lines of Will’s back. “Who’s the house husband now,” he says, jerking his gaze away when Will turns around with an incredulous expression on his face.

“You know I can hear you right?”

Frederick closes his eyes and decides that his best course of action is to pretend to be asleep. 

He finds himself leaning farther back into the couch cushions, getting comfortable. Next thing he knows, Will has a hand wrapped around one of his and is pulling him up. The room spins. Frederick lurches, caught totally off balance. 

“Wha-” he huffs, disoriented. “Will,” he says, probably in a whinier tone than the situation merits.

Will just hooks an arm around his waist and walks, calm as you please. “Sleeping now,” he says, and Frederick fights the urge to tell him off. He’s drunk, not a _child_.

He lets Will put him to bed though. Will’s bed. With Will in it. 

Frederick stops breathing a bit as Will reaches over him, calm as you please, and turn the light off. He waits, but Will doesn’t do anything else. Because he’s drunk and therefore has the excuse, Frederick rolls over to wrap his arm around Will’s abdomen and settles in, faking nonchalance. For some reason, Will allows it. 

“Thank you, Will,” he mumbles, eyes closed. 

“Go to sleep.” 

As he drifts off to sleep, Frederick wonders if he had just had his first date with Will Graham.


	6. Staying Up

In the following weeks, sleeping in the downstairs bed together becomes an unspoken permanent arrangement. 

Most of the time, Frederick is already in bed by the time Will crawls in next to him. Will is working later and later recently, and Frederick can’t help but wonder if they’re getting closer to catching Hannibal. Or maybe it’s the opposite, and Hannibal is getting farther away. He resolutely decides that he doesn’t want to know. Maybe that makes him a coward. He’s comfortable with it if it does. 

Sometimes, Frederick goes to bed after Will, who always stirs when Frederick first gets into the bed but immediately goes back to sleep. Those moments become the most thrilling parts of Frederick’s days. He tries not to watch Will sleep, it makes him feel too much like a stalker, but sometimes he doesn’t bother to stop himself, caught up in looking at the only person he knows now. 

Will’s pretty in a way most men aren’t, but it somehow doesn’t make him less handsome. Frederick would be jealous if he weren’t so wildly attracted to him. 

They never seem to go to bed at the same time, and Frederick suspects that it’s intentional. It certainly is on Frederick’s part. Some nights he starts out on the couch, and ends up staring at the ceiling until he relents and goes to join Will. Part of him, a big part, wants to quit the arrangement. He even gets halfway through moving his things back upstairs to the unused bedroom one day. 

Frederick knows he won’t though, not when he’s finally sleeping through the night. Sleeping next to Will means he actually _sleeps_ and he can’t just give it up. Will doesn’t tell him to stop either, and Frederick strongly suspects it has to do with the marked decrease in the number of nightmares he has now. So they sleep together. 

It’s fine, until the day he wakes up on top of Will instead of next to Will, with a problem. With Will clearly awake and watching him. 

Frederick looks up, into Will’s eyes, and sees immediately that Will _knows._

This isn’t the first time that Frederick has woken up to find he’s making a tent out of his pants, but it is the first time he thinks Will has noticed. Mortified, Frederick tries to pull away, but Will catches his elbow and and pulls him back again. 

“Will, I-”

Will seals his lips shut with his own, putting a hand on the back of his neck to hold him there. 

Frederick has a moment of frozen shock before he surges forward, sliding his arms around Will’s back and opening his mouth in invitation. 

Will responds in kind, running his tongue along Frederick’s and makes a low noise in his throat that causes Frederick’s breath hitch. 

Overwhelmed, Frederick breaks the kiss and immediately seeks out Will’s neck in order to avoid looking into his eyes. He’s rusty, but still remembers what to do, running his mouth along Will pulse point and down towards his collar bone until he gets Will breathing as hard as he is. 

Not to be outdone, Will pushes him away and slides right off the bed and onto his knees. Frederick has a moment in which he laments that this is going too fast but then Will reaches for Frederick’s pajama bottoms (though of course they’re really Will’s) and starts sliding them off his legs in quick, efficient movements. Frederick looks up at the ceiling, trying to get ahold of himself. 

Will doesn’t wait, just slides his lips right over Frederick’s cock and _sucks_. Frederick moans and makes a wild grab for Will’s hair, running his hands through it. Will pulls back, sliding his tongue up the shaft and Frederick holds his breath, trying to exact some control over the situation. Will is clearly inexperienced, but it’s been so long that Frederick barely notices. 

It takes an embarrassingly little amount of time for Frederick to get close. 

“Will I- I might-”

“Good,” Will murmurs, lowering his head again and Frederick is coming with a strangled cry.

Will jerks back, gripping his thighs and only coughing a bit. He pushes himself back up and onto the bed, settling next to Frederick, so close that he’s nearly on top of him again. 

Frederick barely notices, panting and basking in the afterglow. He only becomes fully aware of Will again when he kisses him, pressing him down into the sheets, and this time Frederick knows he blushes. 

He wonders if Will is going to want to fuck him, but dismisses the idea offhand. It's an intriguing idea, but they don’t have what they need, and Frederick doesn’t think that he’s ready to allow that in any case. 

Instead, he turns to more fully kiss Will and slides a hand down between his legs. Will whimpers, the sound high, almost feminine, and Frederick eggs him on, sliding his other hand to his hair and pulling. Will breaks away, gasping and glassy eyed, and falls back against the bed. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to make a move on me, Frederick,” Will says, eyes closed. “For _weeks._ ” 

Frederick lets out a harsh breath. “You might have said something,” he says, petulant.

Will’s eyes open, but he keeps them turned towards the ceiling. “So might have you.” Will shifts, arching his back and letting his legs fall apart. Frederick watches the process avidly. 

_Now or never,_ he thinks, and lays down between Will’s shaking thighs. He grasps them tightly, more so than necessary, is gratified to hear Will’s breathing catch. He might not understand Will's mind, but even he can spot his desire for a mix of pain with pleasure. Frederick lowers his head, and Will makes all the right sounds, gasping and moaning in all the appropriate ways that urge Frederick on. Unlike Will, Frederick has actually done this before, and he makes good use of his skills. 

They spend most of that day in bed, still not sleeping. 

Jack doesn’t call, and Will has no standing appointments to make, and it isn’t like Frederick ever has anything urgent to do, so he just closes his eyes and settles down into the mattress, only barely touching the other man. He listens to Wil’s breathing, steady but shallow. He can almost hear the gears turning in his head. 

Will doesn’t talk much though, keeping it all in his head, and Frederick is grateful for the silence. He’s rested, relatively safe, and now satisfied. He doesn’t want to ruin it with outside information. 

Eventually though, when Will’s turmoil begins to spill over, Frederick intervenes. 

“Will.” 

The other man starts, as though he had forgotten he wasn’t alone. “What?” Will finally manages. 

“I-” He purposely avoids making this about Will’s wellbeing. “I’m worried about the future. Mine, I mean.” 

Will smirks. “I see,” he shifts, rolling so that he can lean on one elbow. 

“Should I be?” Frederick presses.

“No,” Will says, voice even. But his eyes are shadowed. “We’re closing in.” 

Frederick frowns. “You don’t sound sure about that.” 

Will grimaces, and attaches his gaze to Frederick’s shoulder, an evasive tactic he is well used to by now. “I am. We’ll get him. It’s just-” He stops himself, and rolls flat on his back again. 

Frederick can barely stop himself from chasing after him. “Just?”

Will’s eyes are closed now. “You don’t need to be worried, Frederick. You’ll be ok.” 

“And you?” 

Will doesn’t respond for several seconds. Frederick gets a sinking feeling in his chest, imaging Will, dramatic as anything else, concocting schemes to take Hannibal down in some magnificent, self-destructive manner. 

“ _Will,_ ” Frederick demands, impatient now. “You have to-” 

“It’s fine Frederick,” Will says, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t even sound angry. 

Frederick bites his lip to prevent himself from having another outburst. Will is clearly not fine, and he won’t let Frederick help.

 _Well.,_ Frederick thinks, slowly sliding an arm around Will’s midsection. _Not directly._


	7. Quicker Than Falling Asleep

Surprisingly, the introduction of sex into their relationship doesn’t change much. Frederick isn’t sure what he expected, probably for Will to either withdraw emotionally or to rapidly open up, but he does neither. It’s highly irregular. 

For Frederick, the addition of sex into his life is only helping him relax and sleep more, so he certainly won’t complain, but he wonders about Will, who walks around the house with a vacant expression and shakes at night. In some ways, sleeping together actually makes _sleeping together_ seem more normal. It’s almost a relief, because now at least they have an excuse beyond shared trauma. 

Will simply carries on as though nothing had changed between them, except for touching him more often. Of course, his changing relationship with Frederick probably doesn’t even make the top five most stressful things in his week at the moment so Frederick tries to let it go. Unfortunately for Frederick, his relationship with Will is quite literally all he has to think about anymore. 

“Can you hand me that?” Will asks, pointing to a screwdriver. Frederick does, trying to be helpful. Will is currently fixing the vacuum again, and in Frederick’s opinion it’s time to get a new one. Will refuses to buy what he assume he can repair though, and Frederick is slowly learning to let these things slide, even if the screen in the window is more tape than screen. 

Frederick watches him throughout the day, carefully cataloguing that ways in which he’s maintaining the air of stability when he’s so clearly falling apart inside. Frederick's plan to be Will’s support isn’t going as well as he’d hoped. Will is both extremely perceptive and extremely suspicious of any perceived manipulation, and he had told Frederick off at dinner for subtly trying to get him to eat more. 

“I don’t need you to take care of me. I’m not a child,” Will had said, angrily shoving away from the table when he caught Frederick stealthily pushing the bread plate in his direction. 

Frederick doesn’t bother to respond, knowing that Will isn’t open to any opinion but his own anymore. For some reason, this makes him feel more resentment towards Hannibal Lector than he’d ever felt, even right after he’d been framed. Then, he had only felt an intense, all consuming fear. Now, not only had Lector taken his good name and his very life, here he was, still destroying Frederick’s only remaining ties to the world from the inside out.

“It’s easier to hate the little things, I suppose,” he mutters, resentfully, as he dries the dishes with more force than is necessary. 

“What?” Will calls from the other room. 

Frederick curls a hand tightly around a spoon, letting the edges bite into his hand. “Nothing,” he says, not raising his voice so Will can hear out of spite.

Will comes into the kitchen anyway. He still looks a bit annoyed, but no longer angry about the bread. Frederick focuses on ignoring him. 

This is made difficult when Will creeps up behind him and wraps his arms around Frederick’s waist, holding him tight. Frederick leans back, annoyed, but not enough to reject Will’s touch. Beggars can't be choosers. 

Will slides his lips down the side of Frederick’s neck, resting his chin on his shoulder. He’s being more affectionate than usual, and Frederick can’t help but wonder why. “Sorry,” Will manages finally. “We really shouldn’t fight.” 

_It’s what Hannibal wants,_ Frederick thinks but doesn’t say. Deciding to humor him, he turns in Will’s arms to face him and lets Will press him back into the counter. 

Will kisses him, pressing himself along the length of Frederick’s body. Frederick slides his hands up the back of Will’s ugly plaid shirt, and pictures it on the floor with the dogs where it belongs. Something about nearly dying seems to have awoken a brazenness in him. It’s strange to think about how much more sex Frederick is having now that he’s a fugitive, but it’s true. 

Will breaks away and slides a leg in between Frederick’s thighs, pressing. Frederick gasps and Will smiles. “Do you want to?”

Frederick shifts, feeling awkward. It hadn’t taken them long to progress to sex, but as out of practice as Frederick is, he has an issue. “Yes," he says, choosing his words deliberately. “I do but I’m...sore.” 

Perfect understanding blooms in Will’s eyes, and he leans forward to kiss Frederick again. It’s almost sweet, full of that empathy that enchants Frederick so much. 

Will leads him by the hand to the bed, settling on his back. Frederick follows him down, choosing to focus on the lines of his body so that he doesn’t have to look at his face. They help each other out of their clothes, Frederick makes a special point to throw the hideous shirt in the direction of the dog pile, and come back together. Will shifts so that his knees are bent, feet flat on the bed, and helps Frederick to slot himself in the space that remains, flush against him. 

Frederick takes the initiative and wraps a hand around both of them, settling into a rhythm that soon has them both panting. Will grabs onto Frederick's waist, and encourage him ride the motions of Will’s hips, up and down his thighs. 

“Will-” Frederick whines, as his hands tighten on his skin, surely leaving marks. 

“Uh- yeah, come on, Frederick,” Will groans, pushing up harder into Frederick’s hands. 

The tension builds and builds until Frederick is gasping his release, and has to let them go in order to grab onto Will’s shoulder to steady himself. He’s breathing hard, heart pounding, and leans down to rest his forehead on Will’s shoulder. 

Will slides his hands down between them, taking over and Frederick turns his head to kiss Will’s neck. Will sucks in a breath that turns into a moan when Frederick bites down. “Frederick.” Will turns his head to kiss him. “Christ- look at me.” 

Frederick draws back, so that Will can see him properly, and slides a hand from Will’s neck down to his groin, taking over. He meets Will’s eyes, face burning at being told what to do, but not from shame. Will gasps and comes all over his hand. 

He collapsed back against the bed, tipping his head back and breathing hard. Frederick follows him down so that he doesn’t have to awkwardly hover over him anymore, and presses kisses to his neck. 

Will hums, leaning into him. Then he leans away, looking down at himself. “Sticky?” Frederick asks, teasing. 

“Aren’t you?” Will shoots back. Frederick laughs, a warm feeling blooming in his chest when Will does too. 

He freezes. _Damn,_ Frederick thinks, cursing himself. _This is bad._

Will stands up and stretches. Frederick watches the movement avidly, but his heart is sinking in his chest. This is bad, this is dangerous.

“I’m showering,” Will says, heading for the stairs without bothering to put anything on. “Coming?” 

“Sure,” Frederick says, because he’d rather take a shower with him than deal with his uncomfortable emotional problems. 

He’s getting in too deep with Will.


	8. Rude Awakening

The morning sun drifts in through the window, bright and directly in Frederick’s eyes. Annoyed, he groans and rolls over. This puts him half laying on Will, who grunts and wakes up, but Frederick vindictively thinks that it serves him right for putting his bed right next to the window. In the living room. 

“M’ getting up,” Will murmurs, then doesn’t, settling back into the mattress. Amused, Frederick watches him with half closed eyes. 

From an outside perspective, nothing much had changed. Frederick wakes up next to Will, a man whose mind he used to covet like a mythic sunken treasure. Now he covets him for an entirely different reason. Then they either have sex right then or roll out of bed. Frederick showers, eats, and gets ready for another day spent doing very little, and waits for Will to return. 

In general, and especially in comparison to how Frederick’s life might have turned out, his situation is good. 

“Ok,” Will says, after minutes of silence. “I’m actually getting up now.” 

Frederick shifts to allow him to roll away, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around him from behind and hold him there. He sighs and closes his eyes. 

The issue is that Frederick is well on the way to falling in love with a man who spends his days flirting with a serial killer, and who also doesn’t seem to feel anything substantial for Frederick in return. On his list of problems, this should rank somewhere below being framed for murder and fearing that the hospital will replace him if he’s gone for much longer, but he has a lot of spare time. 

As it is, he spends a lot of that time staring wistfully in Will’s general direction and drinking his stash of whiskey while Will is out. 

They wake up gradually around each other, each going about their own business. Will especially is withdrawn in the mornings, caught up inside his own mind. Frederick moves through his mornings mechanically, putting together a mental list of the things he invents for himself to do. Will hasn’t left him a list in days, probably too caught up in the outside world to be concerned with Frederick’s. 

Despite the sex and the wonderful ability to sleep through the night that remains remarkable to him, he feels a bone deep emotional dissatisfaction made worse by the fact that he has no right to complain. He fears falling back into a depression, but is too busy being childishly angry that Will doesn’t seem to like him back. It’s like being back in high school. 

Frustrated, Frederick slams the door to the fridge shut, having just cleaned it out for the third time in a week. He dislikes childish behavior in others, but he hates seeing it in himself. 

“Did it deserve it?” Will calls from the other room, sounding amused and finally awake. Frederick shuts his eyes and counts to ten. 

He tries, and fails, to laugh. “Yes.” It’s not at all a convincing performance and he half expects Will to come stick his nose in Frederick’s business. He doesn’t, which only makes Frederick more annoyed. Audibly sighing, he goes out the back door and into the snow, several excited dogs at his heels. 

The dogs sprint around in the snow, barking and wagging their tails. Buster takes a running leap and disappears in the snow. One of the others jumps up at him from the ground, nearly knocking him over. 

Frederick pushes him away, trying to be fierce. “Dog, no!” he says, but he can’t help but smile. He turns around and sees Will pretending not to watch him from the kitchen window. 

That night, Will moves to kiss him and Frederick tilts his head to allow it, despite his misgivings. They settle into each other, breathing the same air, and drop into sleep together. They don’t bother with getting undressed. Frederick is on his way to convincing himself to be content with the situation when suddenly he’s being shaken awake. 

“Wha-” Frederick tries to say, drowned out by the dogs barking. 

“Under the bed,” Will says, already pushing him away and onto the floor. His hair is sticking up at odd angles and he’s holding his gun. 

Frederick groans and stands up, still half asleep when he realizes that Will sounds scared. He drops to the floor immediately and crawls under the bed, heart pounding. Will leaves the room, heading for the front door, and Frederick holds his breath, hoping against hope that it isn’t Hannibal. There's no way that he'll survive it if it is.

The door opens, and Will lets out an audible sigh. “Jack, what are you doing here?”

Frederick breathes out, relief spreading through him so strongly it’s a physical sensation. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, deciding that he can handle being taken in to FBI custody. Just as long as it isn’t Hannibal, he can do it. His standards of acceptable living situations are so low now he can take almost anything. 

Will keeps Jack in the other room, which is good because Frederick is pretty sure that his heart is beating so hard that it’s audible to the human ear. After a few minutes, when Jack doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, he feels it start to slow down. They’re talking about Hannibal, of course, and how Will either won’t catch him (Jack’s concern) or he just needs more time (Will’s response). 

“I just, I _need_ to know Will.” 

“Well I can’t give you any-”

“Can’t you?” Jack demands, loud enough for Frederick to hear clearly. 

Frederick listens half-heartedly, and he hears more than Will’s ever told him about the great quest for Hannibal Lecter, but he doesn’t pay much attention. With the adrenaline leaving his body, he’s left tired, physically drained. He unclenches his hands, which he hadn’t even realized were wrapped so tightly into fists his knuckles were white, and sees blood. He stares at them, examining the shallow crescent shaped cuts in his palms, and thinks that he should cut his nails. 

“Damn,” he whispers. If Hannibal was here he would smell the blood like a shark in the water and come drag Frederick out from under the bed by his feet. Caught between feeling like he might laugh or cry, Frederick deliberately closes his eyes and tries to relax. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then Will is shaking him again. 

“Frederick!” Will whispers, through his teeth. It’s still loud enough to wake him up, and he jerks up, banging his head on the underside of the bed. Reeling, he lays back down, pain blinding him. Will pulls on his arm. “Get out from under there.” 

In pain and disoriented, Frederick does as he’s told, scooting sideways until he’s out in the open again. The dogs swarm him, and Frederick raises his arms to defend himself. “Down, _down_ dogs.” 

Will is sitting on the bed, haggard looking and watching him. “You fell asleep under there.” 

Frederick squints up at him from his place on the floor. It’s not a question. “I suppose I did,” he mutters, getting to his feet. 

Will is still staring at him incredulously. “How have you survived this long?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused. 

Too tired to care, Frederick collapses onto the bed, next to Will. “Clearly I’m immortal.” Then he falls back asleep to the sound of Will’s strained laughter.


	9. Deep Sleep

The sun is in his face again. Frederick groans and rolls over, onto his side. It doesn’t help. 

Confused, he opens his eyes to find himself lying sideways on the bed, and alone. He sits up and looks around the room, the events of the previous night coming back to him. Embarrassed and still a bit scared, he glances nervously around the room. Will isn’t there, and thankfully neither is Crawford, but Frederick can hear him in the shower. 

He gets up, his back and stomach sore from sleeping on the floor for however long Crawford had been there, and tries to make himself busy with limited success. Most of the time is spent playing with the dogs and dwelling on the fact that he was nearly caught last night. 

Will eventually comes down the stairs, looking more put together than usual, and Frederick immediately adverts his eyes. So. Major Hannibal work today then. He goes back to fighting Winston over one of his socks, but Will calls out to him. 

“I’ll be...late tonight. Probably.” 

Frederick closes his eyes for a second before turning to face him, letting Winston go. “Ok, I’ll put something in the fridge then.” He tries not to picture Will dead on Hannibal’s floor with limited success. 

Will bobs his head, looking awkward. More awkward than he usually does. “I also, uh, think that you shouldn’t sleep in my bed with me anymore. It’s not secure.” 

For a horrible second, Frederick doesn’t know what to say, but then he regains himself. “Oh, of course. You’re right. It’s an irresponsible risk.” He makes himself stop before he really starts babbling. Will doesn’t look at him. 

To prevent any further awkwardness or need to actually discuss the fact that they had been sleeping together for weeks, Frederick pretends that he hears the laundry timer go off and escapes to the basement, mortified. He sits down in the mostly dark, telling himself that it’s actually because Will is concerned about security and not because he’s tired or ashamed of Frederick, until he hears the front door close, and then gives it another few minutes to make sure Will is actually gone. 

When Frederick finally comes out of the basement, covered in cobwebs, he finds all the dogs staring at him. They look unimpressed. Frederick glares at them. “Don’t look at me like that. I know I’m embarrassing myself.” 

Sleep comes hard for Frederick that night, upstairs in the otherwise empty guest bedroom and alone for the first time in weeks. He spends the better part of the first hour stubbornly trying to force his brain to shut down, and then the next just staring up at the ceiling. The dogs, traitorous bastards that they are, don’t even try to get into the room, staying downstairs with Will. 

Frustrated, Frederick hauls himself up and puts his head in his hands, feet braced on the floor. “Dammit," he says, quietly. The last thing he wants is for Will is hear him talking to himself.

He lays back down, feeling sorry for himself, and closes his eyes. _One, two, three…_

The next thing he knows, he hears a soft knocking on the door to his new room. He freezes, momentarily taken over by irrational fear, then sits up. No one coming to kill and/or arrest him would bother to knock. Probably. Hannibal might just to mess with him. There’s another knock. 

“Uh, come in?” For a moment nothing happens, and Frederick wonders if he imagined it, but then the door creaks open and Will sticks his head in. He looks terrible. Frederick stares. “Will?”

“I, uh- thought I heard you having a nightmare, or something,” Will says, staring at a point close to Frederick’s shoulder. “So I came to see if you were ok.” 

Confused and still experiencing some residual fear, Frederick shakes his head. “No, I mean, I don’t think so.” He frowns, thinking. Had he? Had he even fallen asleep?

Will shifts his weight, glancing around the room. “Right. Ok. I mean, I didn’t either, so.” 

Frederick opens his mouth to question him, but then his brain catches up with his eyes and he takes in Will’s tired eyes, awkward body posture, and embarrassed expression. _Oh._

“Actually,” Frederick stammers as Will moves to leave the room. “I can’t sleep.” 

Will stops in the doorway and stands there, still facing away from Frederick. “Yeah? Well, uh, that must have been it.” 

Frederick feels a waves of affection for this ridiculous man and has to stifle a laugh so that he doesn’t drive him away. “Right,” he says, carefully choosing his words. “Would you mind if…?” 

Will turns back and meets Frederick’s eyes briefly. “You want me to stay here?” he asks, not quite disguising how pleased he is with forced disinterest. Frederick bites his lips and hope that it’s too dark for Will to see him properly. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Will is younger and in many way, less stable, than Frederick. He spends so much of his time taking care of things, people forget to take care of him.

“Yes,” he manages, and Will comes over to the bed immediately, pushing him over to the other side and settling in under the covers. Will manhandles him into the position he wants him in, lying down on his back so Frederick can lay partially on his chest. Comfortable silence settles in, and Frederick feels himself start to relax, but he can tell that Will is still awake. 

After a moment, Will shifts to squint down at Frederick face. “Shut up. I know you’re laughing at me.” 

Frederick smiles and looks up at him. “Well, I wasn’t lying when I said that I couldn’t sleep without you.” That seems to mollify Will some, and he settles down into the mattress. Frederick smiles into his shoulder and lets himself drift off. 

When he wakes up, he finds himself tangled up in Will, their legs twisted together, their arms wrapped around each other. Will is still out cold, head against in Frederick's chest. Frederick’s left arm and right foot are both asleep. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t fall back asleep either. He thinks about Will and his hero complex. He thinks about his own cowardice and whether or not it applies in this situation. He think about convincing Will to stay with him forever, which depending on the outcome of the Hannibal situation, might not be for very long. 

Eventually, one of the dogs makes a loud enough sound to wake Will up, and he stirs against Frederick, momentarily grasping his arm too tight then releasing it. Frederick feels sick with affection for him, and it strengthens his resolve. 

“Will?” he calls out, softly. 

The other man hums against his chest. “What.”

Frederick takes a breath and considers the fact that now is the optimal time to bring up the subject, since they are both relatively vulnerable, but also rested. “You know you can talk to me about Hannibal, right?” Silence. Frederick can hear Will breathing, but he doesn’t respond. Finally he presses on. “You don’t have to if you-”

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Will says, all at once. He tightens his hand on Frederick’s arm again. 

“Do what?” Frederick asks, carefully, but he knows.

“Catch him,” Will answers in barely more than a whisper. 

Frederick is quiet for a second, considering his response. There’s really only one. “That’s ok.”

Will laughs bitterly. “No, it’s really not. Thanks for trying though.”

“You’re doing your best.” 

“What does that matter?”

“It matters,” Frederick says, trying to sound firm. “You’re doing you best, and...you’ve done alright by me. I hope that would at least count for something.” 

Will goes quiet again, and for a minute, Frederick is worried that he’s made a terrible mistake. Then Will speaks up again. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Frederick. And I’m sorry if that’s selfish of me.”

“Me too,” Frederick says, meaning it. “It’s going to be ok.” 

Will tucks his face into Frederick’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” he murmurs. His voice is so quiet that Frederick has to strain to hear. “I can’t sleep without you anymore.”

Frederick tightens his grip on Will’s shoulders, holding him close. “Neither can I.”


End file.
